Walk the Line
by inkstainedpinky
Summary: Post-4.04. The phrase "walk the line" had two meanings. The first was to abide by the law and by moral standards. The second was to maintain a fragile balance between one extreme and another, i.e. good and evil, sanity and insanity. The former Jane Rizzoli had no problem obeying. It was the second that gave her trouble. Especially when it came to this.


**Disclaimer:** _I do not own the characters represented in this fiction. They are the property of the creative minds behind the books and television adaptation._

**Rating:** _T for slight violence and language._

**Pairing:** _Slight Jane/Maura_

**Summary:** _Post-4.04. __The phrase "walk the line" had two meanings. The first was to abide by the law and by moral standards. The second was to maintain a fragile balance between one extreme and another, i.e. good and evil, sanity and insanity. The former Jane Rizzoli had no problem obeying. It was the second that gave her trouble. Especially when it came to this._

_Okay, Rizzoli and Isles peoples. This is my first venture into your fandom, and I both apologize for this…and I don't. While watching 4.04 and basking in the aftermath, the only thing I could really think about was if Jane would pull some strings and get herself alone with Tucker Franklin to rough him up a bit. That notion, of course, then evolved into what type of repercussions would Jane endure both emotionally and morally… _

_So what came next was a fun little ditty of what I imagined. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

**WALK THE LINE**

* * *

When Jane Rizzoli was a young girl, her mother loved to play old Johnny Cash records while she was cooking dinner. Anything and everything even remotely associated with Johnny Cash would often been heard thrumming through the Rizzoli house around three in the afternoon to just before dinner time. Angela's favorite record was "I Walk the Line" and one of her most pervasive memories of her childhood was her mother humming the melody as she kneaded dough for Nonna's famous gnocchi. At the time, Jane had no idea what the song was about, only that she loved hearing it blaring from the old phonograph in the living room. It wasn't until she was old enough to know about love and all its complexity that she really understood what The Man in Black meant when he crooned about the influence of some unnamed woman.

When she was older, she looked up what "walk the line" meant; what she found was interesting. It actually had two meanings. The first meaning of the phrase was to abide by the and by moral standards. Or, more colloquially, "walk the straight and narrow."

The second meaning presented a very different notion. "Walk the line" meant to maintain a fragile balance between one extreme and another. To find the balance between good and evil or sanity and insanity or decency and decadence.

It seemed like a pretty complex juxtaposition, Jane decided. On one hand, "walk the line" stressed an ideal, the uncompromising straight line. On the other hand, "walk the line" operated in that ever-present gray area. The morally ambiguous middle where right and wrong wasn't as clear.

As a cop, Jane could understand the stringency of first meaning. She abided by the letter of the law as the undertones of her badge entailed. There was no right or wrong; there was only the letter of the law. On the other hand, sometimes the letter of the law left room for those gray areas, those ambiguities, and sometimes, as a cop, it was those ambiguities that paved the way for the arrest.

In Cash's song, he told of a woman whose love kept him on the straight and narrow. Maybe Cash had it right.

Sometimes it took a good woman to keep a rogue in line.

But sometimes that good woman was the reason the rogue strayed.

In Jane's case, it was the latter.

xxx-xxx-xxx

Jane strode purposefully through the doors of Nashua Street Jail. The officers scattered in the lobby, nodded to her, some greeting her by name. She made small talk with one of them as he asked about Frankie, and she almost smiled at the familiarity. This wasn't the federal prison with that asshat of a warden, and the guys that ran this place were – mostly – stand-up guys, and she had worked with a good amount of them in some type of capacity or another.

She was escorted to a room where the prisoner was waiting for her. The nature of his crime had prompted the judge at his arraignment to have him held without bail. He was isolated from the general population, and she could tell it was taking its toll on his psyche.

Excellent.

As Jane stepped up to the one-way mirror, observing the disgraced golf pro, it didn't take a genius to see Tucker Franklin's appeal. With his All-American good looks and dimpled smile, no one could dispute why Tucker became the hot new thing of the pro golf game. Not to mention he had the talent to make sure he kept their interest. The name and persona of _The_ Tucker Franklin had become an overnight sensation the moment that his boyishly handsome face and picture-perfect golf swing had won the US Open two years ago. To the outside world, there was no one more revered in Boston-based sports – no one except Tom Brady, but c'mon…

She watched him, eyes narrowing as he cast an anxious glance around the empty room. The Tucker Franklin that sat handcuffed, isolated in a hard, metal chair didn't look like the golden boy of golf that graced the covers of every sports media avenue in the last couple of years. Gone was the swagger and poise of the sharply-dressed man who had casually handed over the keys to a luxurious, gas-inefficient monstrosity that only an individual who had no scruples with money would even attempt to own. His posture was slumped, defeated, and his gaze darted nervously around the room. Still, even with the dark circles around his eyes and the haggard appearance, he didn't looked like he belonged in the bright orange jumpsuit that made his attire.

Jane steeled herself. She drew off her blazer, laying it over the chair in front of the monitor. She rolled up the sleeves to her button-down and reached to her waist. When she entered the room, her belt was noticeably empty.

xxx-xxx-xxx

The doors disengaging reverberated loudly through the empty room, causing Tucker Franklin to glance up. A vaguely familiar woman entered, not speaking or offering a greeting. Baby blue surveyed at her curiously, sizing her up as she leaned against the one-way mirror.

Neither spoke for a long moment, letting the silence linger between them, an implicit battle of wills. Finally, Tucker broke the silence.

"You arrested me," he recalled, confusion lacing his features and tone. "I remember you." He cocked his head. "You were the woman with Maura at the benefit."

That was clearly the wrong thing to say.

Jane lunged forward, scarred palms slapping the metal of the table that separated them. The loud sound reverberated, and Tucker recoiled back in surprise at both the quickness at which she moved and the ferocity in the already deep timbre.

"You don't get to say her name." A veritable growl cut through the distance between them. "After what you did, you don't deserve to even think about her."

His impulse was to automatically retort, and his mouth opened to oblige that inclination. The dangerous glint in the dark brown eyes smoldering before him halted that urge, and he swallowed down the words.

"You've got a lot of nerve," she stated plainly. "I'm still trying to decide if you've got a helluva set on you or you're just plain stupid." She leaned closer, that piercing brown stare boring into him. He fought the urge to gulp, instinctively leaning back.

She wasn't yelling, but her voice wasn't what was chilling him to the bone. Not to say she wasn't scary; she was terrifying, and there was something feral about her.

Predatory.

Animalistic.

It was the stare that caused him to pause, wisely imploring him to tread carefully for fear of further angering the obviously infuriated detective. That steady, unrelenting stare seemed to bore right through him as though he was being laid bare out in front of her, and he had absolutely no defense, no control.

She straightened, her hands on her hips. It was then Tucker noticed the absence of her badge and gun, and that ratcheted up his fear level even further. She reminded him of a tiger, prowling for prey. He had a strong inkling that was exactly what she was doing…and he was on the wrong end of the food chain.

"You made a mistake," she remarked. His eyes shot to hers. The lack of expression on her admittedly striking features made him uneasy. It was a simple statement of fact, but it said everything.

Tucker mustered up enough courage to finally speak. "Look, it was nothing personal," he spluttered. "M–" At the sharp look leveled his way, he choked down the name. "She was just in the way."

"Oh, I'll bet," Jane sneered, pacing in front of him. She stopped once again right in front of him. Her palms rested on the surface of the metal table. Her corded forearms flexed as she braced herself and leaned in. This pose was different that the last time. It was aggressive, confrontational, and he had a sinking feeling this would not end well for him.

"You're a coward," she hissed. "A sorry, sniveling, pathetic _coward_." She was building up momentum, the energy accumulating in the bunched muscle and the tension in her lithe body. She still didn't shout but the words resonated with the force of one. "You've spent years cultivating this image: successful golf pro, family man, philanthropist. And it was all about to crumble around your feet." She straightened again, arms crossing over her chest.

He watched her movements, slow and deliberate. He was wary, unsettled, like a snake wrangler waiting for the swift, poisonous strike of an agitated rattler.

Her dark eyes swept up and down his body, the derision clear. "You couldn't have that, could you?" she mused. "You couldn't afford to have your dirty, little secret aired out for the whole world to see and judge. It would have destroyed everything you built your image on."

It hurt, he admitted. She was hitting everything right on the money, every rationale, every validation, every justification he had dredged up from the corners of his brain to delude himself to not only think this was the right thing to do but that it would work out in his favor. Wisely, he didn't answer.

"It wasn't even about your family," she deduced. "Otherwise you would have never had the affair. Nope. It was about the money. Adidas, Tissot, Powerade…they would have all dropped you quicker than that winning putt on the Lake Course eighteenth."

He watched her tense, the agitation building.

"Your mistake wasn't that you framed an innocent woman." Jane shook her head slowly. "Your mistake was you tried to frame _Maura Isles_."

Tucker no longer fought the urge to gulp, and his Adam's apple bobbed. The emphasis on the name made it clear what this was.

This was retribution.

This was justice beyond the system.

This was not going to end well.

Her eyes glimmered, fierce and furious. "And after all she's done for your charity, for your _son_, this is how you repay her?" Jane huffed an evil-sounding chuckle. "Oh, I am going to enjoy seeing you go down, Franklin," she murmured.

The steel in her voice chilled him to the bone.

"I am going to make sure not one person doubts your guilt," she swore. "I am going to make sure that there is no loophole you can worm your way through, no technicality you can weasel out of, and you better believe I am going to use all of the pull and influence I have to make sure the entirety of the justice system rains shit all over you." Her voice deepened to a growl. "You are going to be in here a long time, Tucker Franklin, I promise you that."

He watched her warily as she strolled to the other side of the table, propping a hip on the edge.

"You know, Tucker," Jane began conversationally, peering down at him. She was a tall woman, he noticed. Had they both been standing, he wouldn't have more than a couple of inches over her. In their current position, however, her presence loomed large, swelled even further by the sharp aura of fury that radiated from her posture.

"I have been working overtime trying to prove Maura's innocence. I'm running on very little sleep. I'm a little bit cranky." Suddenly, she lashed out, her fist catching him solidly across the face. "So you'll excuse me if I'm not in total control of my facilities."

Before he could blink, she pounced, hauling him up from his chair. With a strength that belied her lithe, lanky body, she threw him against the nearest wall, the impact startling enough that he didn't have enough time to brace himself, jarring his shoulder and sending a shock of pain through his body. He barely had time to recover or ready himself for the next strike before she was on him again. A knee thrust up into his stomach, the sharp point sending his breath whooshing from his lungs. Winded, he lost whatever air he had left as a strong hand curved around the nape of his neck, the sharp tug downward moving in counterpoint with the swift uppercut to his solar plexus. A right cross snapped his head to one side, and the following left sent him tumbling to the ground.

All-in-all, the altercation took no more than a couple of seconds, but it brought leagues of pain that he had never felt before. She stood over him, an avenging angel completely fearless to retaliation, fists balled tight at her sides. Her chest rose and fell, the exertion not even changing the pace of her breathing.

"You think this hurts? This isn't even an ounce of what you put Maura through." Jane's chin lifted in challenge. "But unlike her, you're in for so much more from worse people than me. And I don't have any sympathy for you. No one will."

Had this been a completely different scenario, Tucker would have dubbed Jane Rizzoli quite an impressive woman. In his current predicament, however, Tucker was less impressed. He heard the door open and grunted his relief at the thought of respite and salvation finally arriving. He turned towards the guard that had just entered the room and pointed at the impassive detective.

"Did you see that?" he squawked, gesturing wildly. "She assaulted me! I want her charged."

Jane Rizzoli merely smirked, turning on her heel and exiting the room. The guard watched her go, a smile curling the corners of his mouth. He returned his attention to the prisoner on the ground. "Dunno what you're talking about." He shrugged. "I didn't see a thing." He hitched his head towards his colleagues, all of whom were busying themselves with other tasks. "Ain't no one saw nothin'."

"I'll say this, though," another one remarked, flipping a page in his magazine. "Jane Rizzoli. What a woman."

His colleagues hummed their agreement, dispersing to their usual duties.

As he was hauled to his feet, frog-marched back to his cell, and shoved unceremoniously into the small cube, Tucker Franklin looked around him, his expression mirroring his incredulity. That moment, that single moment of the utmost clarity, he became extremely aware of his new reality.

xxx-xxx-xxx

Jane sighed, throwing on her blazer and strapping on her gun and badge. She wiggled her fingers, trying to regain a bit of dexterity. Geeze, she forgot how much it stung to punch someone.

As she approached the foot of the stairs leading up to the precinct, she paused, her eyes drifting up to the letters displayed proudly.

Boston Police Department.

She sighed.

The cop in her warred with the implications of what she had just done. Unconsciously, she clenched her fists, wincing as the stiff, raw skin protested the action.

Then she remembered the look of Maura in that orange jumpsuit, the purpled, abused skin ringing her left eye.

The rage that swelled in her was palpable, and it brought her back to the satisfaction of her fists pummeling Tucker Franklin's tender, unmarred flesh. She took great pride in being Detective Jane Rizzoli. But in that moment, she was just Jane.

And it was worth it.

So she squared her shoulders and strode up the steps.

Turning the corner into Division One Café, she stepped up to the counter, offering a tired smile to her mother.

"Hey, Ma."

Angela glanced up, placing down the glass she was cleaning. She surveyed her daughter, and almost subconsciously, her hands went straight to her hips.

"You look guilty," Angela stated, hazel green eyes boring straight into her daughter's. In that moment, Jane knew exactly how Tucker Franklin felt when faced with an unrelenting stare that knew exactly how to lay it all bare and unadulterated. So this was what it was like to be on the other end, she mused wryly.

Jane stiffened, schooling her features into a wide-eyed look of ignorance, her spine straight, hands hanging limply at her sides. "I…have no idea what you're talking about."

Angela's gaze narrowed slightly, and her lips pursed, clearly contemplating the veracity of her daughter's claim. Shaking off her sneaking suspicion, she sighed, conceding to Jane's innate stubbornness – admittedly her own contribution to her daughter's temperamental proclivities.

"Maura was looking for you," she remarked.

Jane brightened, and her eyes flit around the café for the familiar head of honey blonde hair. "Where is she?"

"At the Dirty Robber," Angela answered. "She said to meet her there for lunch."

Jane wrinkled her nose. "She's milking the sympathy card, isn't she?" she mused.

Angela laughed. "Are you gonna hold it against her?"

"I guess not," Jane huffed out. She turned towards the door, calling back over her shoulder. "Bye, Ma!"

Angela smiled and waved before going back to work. Things were slowly getting back to normal…

…She'd give it a week.

xxx-xxx-xxx

Trumping into the revamped Dirty Robber, Jane plopped down into the seat across from Maura. She took a look around the bar and grunted her displeasure.

"This isn't right," she complained, shoulders slumped in consternation at the familiar but different surroundings.

Maura shook her head fondly. "Jane, there's nothing wrong with a little change," she rebuked. "The new owners are promoting local farmers and organic, healthy food. That's admirable."

"There is when they're messing with the good ole American hamburger," Jane challenged. "Humans need their meat, not some organic facsimile of it." She pointed a finger, eyebrows raised in defiance. "If it didn't come from a cow, it ain't a real burger."

"Don't be ridiculous," Maura chided. "If we were strictly carnivores, our teeth would have a vastly different construction. The presence of heterodont teeth is one of the best indicators that humans predominantly require an omnivorous diet."

"Okay, Google Mouth," Jane stopped her, holding up a hand as though the gesture would ward off the slew of information spilling from her best friend. "Slow down your search engine before your hard drive crashes."

Maura shot her companion a nonplussed look, her common rejoinder when Jane dismissed her information. The exchange was so achingly familiar, so comforting that Jane sobered, her expression softening. Maura's brow furrowed with concern, and she was about to venture a question when Jane beat her to it.

"What would we do if we didn't have this?" she ventured.

Maura tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

Jane shrugged, waving vaguely between them. "If you and I couldn't do this," she edified. "What would we do?"

The simple phrase, so vague initially, said so much more. Maura smiled, an affectionate gaze landing on her best friend. "Well, lucky for both of us, we don't have to worry about that."

"I was so scared, Maura," Jane admitted, more to her hands in her lap than to Maura. Her lip trembled as she choked back unwanted tears. "God, I was scared we wouldn't solve this. I was scared that you and I wouldn't have these moments. That you wouldn't vomit out random bits of information. That TJ wouldn't have his Auntie Maura to teach him how to fence. That I'd have to take your findings through a video system."

"Jane…" Maura reached out, smiling when Jane's larger hand filled her palm. "I was scared too. But I knew you would find the truth, even if it was of a detriment to me. I expected nothing less."

"But what if I couldn't?" Jane asked.

Maura paused. "Well, I'd rather not think of that scenario," she admitted. "I would imagine life in prison would have been rather difficult for me considering the scope of inmates for whom my findings were probably responsible towards their incarceration."

She unconsciously lofted her left hand, fingers ghosting over her cheekbone where the remnants of the garish bruise lay hidden under concealer and makeup. She looked over to the brunette.

"Jane, I had the utmost confidence you would find a way to prove my innocence. You know what I'm capable of…" Maura's eyes dipped down to her joined hands. "Even when _I'm_ not sure…"

Jane absorbed that, nodding absently. She didn't notice Maura's frown as inquisitive hazel eyes flit over the hand in hers.

"Jane!"

She jumped at Maura's sudden exclamation, eyes snapping to the woman across from her.

"What happened to your hand?"

_Shit_.

Jane slid said hand out of Maura's and dropped it hastily to her lap, adopting the most innocent look she could muster. "Nothing."

Maura leveled her patented glare on the detective. "Don't make me come over there," she threatened.

"I went a little hard on the bag," Jane offered lamely.

Maura's eyebrows drew exponentially closer together, and she lifted her left hand to join her right on the table, both palms-up, a clear entreaty to the detective. Jane warred with herself for a long moment before she obliged. Maura's practiced eyes roved over the raw and red flesh adorning Jane's left and right hands. Absently, Maura shook her head. "Bruising like this is only caused by hitting flesh and…" Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "Oh, Jane. You didn't..."

Jane stiffened. "Didn't wear the proper protective coverings? Yeah. You're probably right."

"Jane!" The admonishment came swift and cutting. "Please don't tell me you did what I think you did."

"I dunno," Jane hedged. "What do you think I did?"

Maura's voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "Do not tell me you went to see Tucker Franklin."

"Okay...so I won't..."

"Jane!"

Jane winced, both at the tone and volume at the resulting shriek. "What was I supposed to do?" she countered.

"You were supposed to leave it alone," Maura chastised.

"Yeah, well, I couldn't leave it alone," Jane retorted. "God, Maura, all of this just so Tucker Franklin could keep his stupid face on that gigantic Gillette billboard on the Mass Pike?"

"Jane…you took an immeasurable risk."

Jane's lips parted, but her defense died on the tip of her tongue. She hefted a sigh, her eyes lofting skyward as her shoulders slumped. "Yeah, well, maybe I wasn't thinking."

"Clearly."

"I would have destroyed evidence for you," she said suddenly.

Maura started, her eyes widening, and she spluttered out a, "What?"

"Ma was telling me about your self-defense videos," Jane explained. "She brought that video of you breaking a board with your forearm to Cavanaugh. At the time, we thought that was what killed Brad." A rueful expression flickered on her face for the barest of moments. "Ma knew that if she would have given me the tape, I would have deleted it. She was probably right." Jane shrugged. "I would have taken the year."

Mutely, Maura shook her head. The implications of that confession resonated in her already cluttered mind, and she fought to sort out the pieces of information Jane had just offered up. She wasn't sure what she felt about Angela's role in her implication, but she filed that away for later. At the moment, she focused on the main piece of information that unsettled her the most. She struggled to find words, but what was expelled was only a single syllable. "Why?"

Jane sighed, shoulders slumping as a hazy gaze lofted skyward. "I just…I just couldn't…" Jane tapered off, stilling her rampant urge to just blurt out the first thing that came into her mind, choosing instead to gather her thoughts. Finally, she hefted another sigh, folding her hands on the table, her gaze meeting Maura's directly.

"When I look at my life now, I see how much includes you," Jane began. "We spend about ninety percent of our time together, my mother lives in your guest house, we spend all Rizzoli family gatherings with you…TJ knows you're his Aunt."

Maura could feel herself losing control of her lacrimal glands again, and she sniffed to push back the emotional tears that threatened to spill.

"I tried to picture my life without you in it, and…" Jane shrugged helplessly. "I didn't really like the idea. You're family, Maura. I love you, and I don't want to think of a life without you."

Maura wasn't quite ready to address the fact that Jane's paralleled something quite more substantial than their – albeit admittedly – deep and platonic friendship, but Jane's uncharacteristically sentimental words prompted a smile.

"Jane…"

"Hey, we're Rizzoli and Isles," Jane remarked with a smile. "Without Isles, there's just Rizzoli. And Rizzoli isn't as awesome without Isles."

"Well…" Maura chuckled, beaming that bright, dimpled smile. "I can say with good conscience that Isles would be pretty lost in the world without a Rizzoli."

Jane grinned. She sobered again, her expression turning earnest. "Maura? Can you do me a favor?"

Maura cocked her head. "What is it?"

"Don't ever get arrested again. I don't think I could take it."

Maura nodded seriously. It was a promise she believed she could keep. "Deal."

xxx-xxx-xxx

It wasn't often Jane Rizzoli strayed from the line. The straight and narrow called to her in both duty and conscience.

But when it came to Maura Isles, Jane would never hesitate.

There was another line she could walk.

And she would.

No question.

_ Wahoo! Hope you guys liked it. This was kind of meant to be a fun little one shot because Lord knows that last scene in the precinct was NOT satisfying at all! I'm sure it's not plausible in the slightest, but eh, it could happen on TV…Please feel free to let me know what you think! As always, thanks to the other half of the writing team, the incomparable CJ!_

_*ISP_


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